The Carrero Heart - Beginning (Friends to Lovers)

Chapter 5: 5

The truth is they all soon drop off my radar when they realize feisty girl about town Sophie, does not put out. Ever.

I look the part, blonde and blue-eyed with a slim curvy body and a dress sense that’s sexual because I’m obsessed with clothes and shoes. I love to be both daring and bold and love to use my body to showcase the season’s sexy trends. I don’t have body issues anymore, any lack of self-esteem or confidence concerning how I look. Therapy made sure of that, the best my family could get me, and the support from my family, Emma, and Arry. No vulgar thoughts when I see how I have grown into a woman’s figure, and I can pull off the outward confidence like any girl around.

I have no problem attracting men of all sorts, but I just want one decent guy, someone like him: My Arry. Someone to take care of me and understand that sex isn’t everything between us. That without it I’m still worthwhile. Someone to see beyond the outer shell and treat me like I matter. Someone who doesn’t see a meal ticket or a quick fuck, or who isn’t abhorred by the past and all the dirty little things that asshole did to me.

I sigh heavily, head overcrowded with thoughts and feelings and I know I’m just running my mind ragged, pushing myself into anxiety, making myself depressed and more exhausted. I lean back and rest my head against the padded seat back; the thumping noise and smoky atmosphere are grating on me, even this drunk. I just want to go home, for Arrick to find me soon and take me anywhere but here.

I close my eyes to block it all out, stay sitting up so I’m less of an obvious target and start counting down the minutes till he gets here.

I am so done with this scene, this life, and it’s never ending bullshit.

After the first burst of independence wore off; and sitting

by the month and sucking me inwards like a black hole with no way out. You can’t drink

was learning interested me, and I sat drawing clothes, coloring in doodles of shoes in every lesson. My head on getting out and going to max my credit card on whatever hit the boutiques that week, daydreaming over the outfit I wanted to try out when I got home. Besides spending money on clothes, the only other thing which

much more. As much as I love them, and I really do, it crushes me in a way that they dismiss something I have a passion for,

breath runs down my cheek. Repulsion and mistrust stir within. Opening one eye, I catch an up close and personal view of a guy in his late twenties, leaning in invasively. His hand comes to rest on my naked thigh, just below my vintage styled denim skirt. My skin crawls immediately with that burn of an alien touch that is completely unwanted. I impulsively shove his fingers away, pulling my knees together as that abdomen lurching reaction hits hard and shift to the

into and takes me away from it all. He has that scary look of a guy who will beat you to within an inch of your life, gorgeous enough to be plausible as my lover, despite the fact I know he keeps his right hook for the

want to keep you cozy.” He slides down next to me, pushing against my side intrusively, my body cringing, and hooks his arm around the back of the seat over my head to angle in on me. The

the proximity, nerves creeping up and my body rigid. Everything inside of me flashing into instant red alert mode and poised to

bad looking, maybe if I’d met him on the dance floor, I’d like him, but he has the air of a pushy guy who doesn’t take no for an answer very often. That usual pit of nausea hits deep down and I cross my legs protectively. Used to sleazy men trying it on in the past couple of

shaking it as though to demonstrate I’ve called him, and this time keep it in my hand in case I need to smack him in the face with it. I’m sobering up fast as adrenaline speeds up my heart rate, becoming more aware because I’m completely uptight. I try to edge further away, but the booth comes to an end at a low wall beside me and means I cannot get any more distance between us. He is all but hemming me in behind the tiny circular table. My temper starts to rise with the claustrophobia, the slow build of nervous anticipation that something is going to

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